Notes on a Near-Life Experience by Olivia Birdsall Read Free Book Online

your parents' divorce are influenced at all by MaryBeth's fam-ily's story?”
    “I don't think my father left us because of another man, if that's what you're asking.”
    I look at the clock. We still have thirty-five minutes left and I don't want to discuss my feelings about MaryBeth's gay dad, so I improvise. “Here's something interesting, though: last night I dreamed that my father and Mr. Bingler, my history teacher, made my family sit down on the couch because they had an announcement to make. They tap-danced and sang about how much they loved each other and then they told us about their plans to move to Connecticut. What do you think that means?”
    “Well, I'm not really one for dream interpretation—”
    I cut her off. “And I've had several dreams where my mother and Justin Timberlake run off together. But theyalways leave a note for us—very considerate of them, right?— talking about their great passion for each other and how they can't deny it any longer, stuff like that. Does that mean anything?”
    I get her talking for a while about dreams, how not all of them mean something.
    “Sometimes they are manifestations of our own fears and anxieties, or of our fantasies. You can't always find a literal interpretation, really. Sometimes they show what we're feeling at a certain point in our lives, and sometimes they're just a crazy jumble of nonsense,” Lisz says.
    Then she's back to MaryBeth's family's divorce.
    “Do you think your parents' divorce will be like Mary-Beth's?”
    “I've never compared the two.”
    “I see. Well, that might be something to consider. Often our past experiences have an impact on the way we perceive and deal with new experiences.”
    “Hmmm. Okay. I'll think about that.”
    The hour is over.
    Thinking about MaryBeth's family depresses me; it makes me feel like the world is covered in some kind of film, the way I used to feel after my grandmother took me to breakfast at this pancake house where the entire dining area seemed to be coated in maple syrup and bacon grease.

J ULIAN , A LLEN , K EATIE , AND I ARE WATCHING
JEOPARDY!
AND eating pizza. Mom called to say that she won't be home until nine, so Al picked up pizza with Julian and Keatie on the way home from her orthodontist appointment. Pepperoni.
    “What is Papua New Guinea?” Allen yells at the TV. “Shouldn't the question be ‘Where is Papua New Guinea?’ ” I tease. “Shut up, smartass,” Allen says. “I don't want to miss the next question.” “You want another piece, Meems?” Julian asks me. “Sure.” I pass my plate down the couch to him. It takes him a while to pass it back. When Keatie hands me the plate, I notice that there's no pepperoni on the piece.
    I hate eating pepperoni, but I like the way it makes pizza taste—the chewy, fatty, meatiness just grosses me out—so I always order pepperoni pizza and then pick off the pepperoni. That way I can still sort of taste the pepperoni, but I don't have to eat it.
    I lean over and look down the couch to where Julian sits with a small stack of pepperoni on his plate, yelling out answers in the form of questions.
    He's never touched my pepperoni before.
    I want to frame this piece of pizza and hang it on my wall. I want to call Haley and tell her that Julian knows how I feel about pepperoni; he cares about my pepperoni needs, and he has met them.
    But he isn't looking at me longingly while I eat my pizza or anything….
    If I were a seventeen-year-old guy with a stack of pepperoni on my lap and the girl who the pepperoni belonged to was sitting two cushions away from me on a sofa, what would I be feeling at this moment?

W HEN I LOOK AT MY PHONE AFTER DANCE PRACTICE , I HAVE three missed calls from Keatie. She has a cell phone she's only supposed to use in emergencies, so I'm kind of freaked out. I call her back without listening to the messages she's left.
    “Mia?” Her voice is shaky, like she's crying. “Nobody came to get me. I finished violin and